If anyone would like to know, this is my second longest chapter to date (page-wise its the longest). I'm really good at wasting time on nonessentials, did you know? The stupidest things catch my fancy, and so I started writing down word counts per chapter before I started all this rewriting. The original word count for these first 12 chapters is: 55,590. Now, the count is at 80,671 (all of this is without author notes), a difference of 25,081. That's impressive if I do say so myself. *g* I'm curious to see what the final count will be.
Okay, on to more relevant matters. First off, there is a new language included in the lengths of this chapter. Do not go searching through any dictionaries of spanish, french, japanese, or elvish to find the translation. You will not. The language does not exist. I made it up. If you want to know what they say, ask and I may tell you. *g* Also, though the next chapter needs to be rewritten (or at least revised extensively) it will likely be another week before you get it (I'm currently dreading either having to add or take away a chapter because of all my revisions), though if you review, I might be encouraged to write faster. Stranger things have happened. The good news is that I'm not tired anymore (or I don't think I am) so I should probably be more up to writing now. Gotta love spring break.
I remember walking around thinking of all these things I meant to include up here, quite distracting, really, but now I can't think of a single thing. How odd. Oh, yes! Please forgive my sense of humor. I rediscovered it yesterday afternoon and decided to give it to the twins. Hehe. Ah, well. I cannot think of anything else.
So. That means I'm gonna ask you to review (please reaview) and bid you enjoy this chapter (Enjoy!) then inform you that the responses are at the very bottom (response are at the bottom) and let you get on with reading my wonderful addition to this story. *g*
Chapter 12
The cry had fallen from Elladan's lips, yet it was Elrohir's thought. He had never met the elf that stood before him, yet he would recognize him anywhere from his little brother's description. Furious loathing flowed through him as he looked at the being who had made Aragorn's life a living hell months ago, matching the mental image he had created with the reality that stood before him.
Silvery-blonde hair was pulled back in the triple-braid warrior style that was familiar to the younger twin through Legolas. The rest flowed down about his shoulders, tastefully framing a rather sharp face with highly defined aristocratic features. Somehow, the sharp angles did not detract from the fairness of his looks, but simply added a dark danger that chilled one's blood. The ice blue eyes that stared out of the face, sharp, cold and unforgiving only added to the effect. But it was lost on the twins that stood before him.
"Shirk," Elrohir growled, spitting out the name with as much fury and disgust as could possibly be shoved into a single word, rendering it nearly unidentifiable. His expression matched his voice and he did not need to look to know that Elladan's expression matched his perfectly.
Cold eyes slid over them. If the elf was impressed with their knowledge or fury, he did not show it, the vaguely amused, tolerant smile he had worn since they first laid eyes on him still firmly in place. "Then you have heard of me," he observed indifferently. "I would have been disappointed had you not, though I rather expected the young Ranger to be too scared of his own shadow to utter a word. Pity."
A wolfish growl snuck past his lips. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had lunged forward, completely forgetting or disregarding the fact that he was bound, with the sole thought of ripping the monster's heart out. Then he was falling, traveling the opposite direction he had intended, and his rage hazed mind could provide no answer for why he was suddenly going backwards instead of forwards. His arms held the answer his mind did not, but before that could register, he had hit the hard, unrelenting stone, the impact jolting up his spine with the force of a sledgehammer before he rocked backwards over his bound arms. Fire raced along the nearly numb appendages as they seemed to splinter under the impact, then his head snapped back and he bit down hard on his tongue, the copper taste of blood quickly filling his mouth.
Elrohir rolled off his back and to his knees by instinct before the additional pain could register along his abused nerves, his mind too fuzzy to reliably direct his actions. Breathing hard, his eyes slightly glazed, he turned to stare at Shirk, the other still standing where he had last seen him, and felt his anger increase, common sense too far out of reach to keep it in check. Iron strong hands clamped onto his arms and dragged him back over by his brother.
"What do you want?" Elladan ground out between clenched teeth, obviously combating his own pain. He hunched slightly as he glared, the only thing he could do to protect his gut from attack.
"Not much," Shirk replied lightly, his manner suggesting he often watched people beaten in front of him, and neither twin had a hard time believing such was true. "Simply your cooperation."
That admission struck Elrohir as amusing, and he chuckled darkly around the blood that pooled in his mouth, some of it dribbling past his lips to drip down his chin before he could swallow it. "You're mental. We won't give you anything."
"I think you may change your mind when you hear what I have to say," the light-haired elf countered calmly.
"There's nothing you can say that would change our mind," Elladan replied coldly, his eyes hard and unyielding as the stone Elrohir had just smacked his head against.
"I thought you might say that," Shirk agreed. "And I've found words to be horribly tiring. Actions are so much more effective in persuasion."
"There's nothing you can do," Elrohir challenged. There was no way this sorry excuse for an elf was going to get anything useful from him or his brother.
That sickly sweet, superior smile reappeared on the elf's face. "I thought you might say that, as well, but no matter. You will find out how wrong you are soon enough. Until then, we'll see how much we can improve your manners. They're sorely lacking for Elf Lords, you know, but that's only to be expected when you look at your parentage."
"Who are you to speak of manners," Elrohir sneered. Elladan was too busy glaring to form any coherent words. How dare this elf speak of his father that way! "Kidnapping isn't exactly considered high etiquette."
"Oh?" Shirk questioned genially, arching an eyebrow. It irked Elrohir considerably that everything he said seemed to amuse this madman to no end. "Kidnapping, yes, I suppose that is highly unsociable. But where are my manners? You've had such a long journey. Surely you must be tired." Something very much like glee sparked in his eyes. "And dirty. Let me introduce you to my hospitality."
If Elrohir heard something threatening in those words, he had not been hearing things. Before he or his twin could comment, however, they were dragged away, further down the mountain into the lower region of the valley. Words that, from anyone else, would have been comforting, drifted down to them, a promise and a threat. "We will talk again in a few hours."
Neither twin was anxious to return to his company.
*~*~*~*~*
Wind rushed past his ears and the plains passed in a mottled blur of indistinct green that was, truthfully, beginning to make him ill. And it was not even the only thing, not that he was about to say a word about it. Aragorn kept his mouth clamped firmly shut to prevent any sounds slipping past that might give away more than he intended. That it had the added benefit of keeping liquids in, as well, was just a bonus.
They had been traveling for just over three days since finding Falshov and in that time had passed beyond the reach of the trees into the more or less open reaches of the plain. The trip had been anything but easy, the lands not highly traveled, but there were several routes that looked as if they had been traveled before, and the pair had chosen one of them. The path they had taken seemed (at least to Aragorn) like the one the men mostly likely would have taken away from the camp if they had headed east (there was no reason not to track them on their way to Caivern if it could be managed, after all), yet they had so far found no further sign of the humans. It was entirely possible that the men had decided to take a different route to travel north or gone a different direction all together, and the young man was beginning to question his conclusions. A niggling little worry at the base of his stomach kept whispering, but what if they went the other way?
He did his best to ignore that voice, insisting they would come across something just the same if that was the case, since they had to have come from the east, at least; but the truth was that it was quite possible they had headed west after breaking camp, or even north (suicidal as that would prove), and neither he nor Legolas would know it. Legolas had found no tracks leading off in any direction during his quick search right after Falshov's appearance, and neither had taken the time to make a more thorough search. Time, they had felt, was too pressing; yet now, Aragorn wished he had taken the time to be sure. He knew they had to travel east regardless of what they found, but that did not stop the worry, nor soothe his nerves. That there was nothing to do but hold on and wait did not help in the slightest--his mind or his body.
I am a Dúnadain, a Ranger of the North, one of the last true descendants of Numenor, and I will be damned a coward before I tell Legolas we need to stop because I feel a little uncomfortable. Except it was more than just a little discomfort.
His head hurt, his fingers ached, his vision blurred, and his stomach roiled. There was, admittedly, little to be done about his fingers, even his father had said so. The others could be blamed on the concussion he had conveniently forgotten to mention to Legolas still bothered him and which was aggravated by the steady ka-thump, ka-thump of riding double of a galloping horse, elven or not. In fact, the concussion he would have been able to deal with easily, but for the fact that it was not the only thing working against him.
The fact that he had eaten little and slept less probably did not aid his situation, but he did not fancy having a full stomach, either, what with the way his stomach kept threatening a revolt. It was taking all his concentration to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged, though he would rather distract himself, a feat that was impossible because, one, there was nothing to look at, and two, no way he could stop himself from being sick if he had to stare to the side at the quickly passing vegetation.
The only other option for distraction (one that did not involve bothering Legolas, at least) was also out of the question. His own thoughts were hardly hospitable these days, and he had been left alone with them long enough. He already had to sleep with them, and if he had thought his nightmares would get better now that he was going after his brothers, actively moving to aid them, he was sorely mistaken. This was one time he desperately wished he was not creative, that he could not imagine what might happen to them, that he could perhaps be innocent of the dangers that plagued this world and not have to see the bloody forms of his twin brothers every time he closed his eyes.
On top of these . . . inconveniences, he was also very cold and annoyingly stiff, both the fault of all the riding they had been doing, though the former would likely be a problem even if they were only walking. His father would have a fit if he knew of his adopted son's actions and banish the human to his room with some of his special tea close behind. That the elf lord was not here was one of the only things the ranger was thankful for.
Aragorn knew he was just begging to get sick with this behavior, Numenorean blood or no, but he also knew there was nothing to be done about it until he found his brothers and saved them from whatever horror they had dropped themselves into; he just hoped his health would hold out long enough.
Suddenly, Ardevui slowed her pace, drawing the human from his uncomfortable thoughts. His eyes darted around quickly, searching for what may have caused them to stop, but the land was as empty as it had been when they started, the horizon still stretching uninterrupted around them. He looked curiously at the back of Legolas' head as the horse pranced to a halt, dipping her head with a disgruntled snort before throwing it back as if she was just as tired of this arrangement as the ranger who rode on her back. The elf absently stroked her neck as he peered off to the side, eyes dancing over the ground nimbly, his brow lightly pinched in concentration.
It was then that Aragorn noticed what sharp elven eyes had already seen: tracks. Without a word and without waiting for a comment from Legolas, he slid from his perch and wandered closer to the markings he felt he should have seen sooner, qualifying and quantifying them with the dexterity of long practice. Legolas remained where he was, simply watching his friend with the bearing of someone expecting a report from an underling.
The young man paced further up, every discomfort forgotten as he followed the trail a few paces. Excitement coursed through him. They had found the party they were looking for! He had been right! The party they followed had traveled east and after leaving Caivern they would not have to backtrack and head in the opposite direction. That was a relief to his burdened mind, but as he further examined the prints a new thought occurred to him, and his excitement drained away with his new perspective. A frown marred his face as he turned back, bending briefly to pull away a bit of refuse to better reveal a set of prints. His eyes were dark.
Legolas noted the frown and straightened, unconsciously preparing for trouble. "What is it? Are they the wrong tracks?"
"No, no," Aragorn replied immediately, still gazing at the ground as he placated the elf. "They are the right tracks." That admission did not seem to set the ranger at ease, though, and his agitation confused the elf greatly, especially as this was what they had been hoping to find ever since they left the last camp.
"Then what is it?"
The young man did not answer immediately, but squatted and examined a track, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly around the edges. This horse had been shod differently than the others, just as he had thought. Or, to be more precise, not shod at all. Silver eyes glanced worriedly towards the horizon. Elves did not put shoes on their horses, they had no need to. "These men made no effort to cover their trail," Aragorn murmured softly.
Legolas frowned, not quite sure if his friend was talking to him or himself, but turned the words over in his mind just the same, looking for what had so disturbed the young man. He thought he might know, but was not sure he wanted to think it. "Strider?" He called, prodding and questioning at the same time.
The man stood and approached him, still looking at the ground. "If you had kidnapped two Elves, would you have ridden across the plains without making some effort to hide your tracks?"
The light-haired elf glanced past the human to the signs of passage in the ground, then looked back at the man who had raised his head and met his gaze. "No. Not unless I did not think anyone would follow me." Aragorn's face darkened. "But perhaps they do not hide because they have no reason to? Hunting parties are common fare, mellon nin."
"Human hunting parties do not travel with Elvish horses," Aragorn replied, voice and face grim.
"You are sure there was an Elvish horse?" Legolas questioned, startled.
The young man sighed and glanced back towards the tracks. "Am I sure? No, but why would all the horses be shod save one? I have never heard of a riddle that makes less sense the more information you find, but I cannot understand this one." The ranger rubbed a weary hand over his face, then sighed again and shook his head. More quietly, he amended, "Nay, I do not want to."
"You think they meant for us to find the tracks?" Legolas prodded even as he studied his friend closely. The human had been more subdued than usual ever since they had come upon Elladan's steed, but he had dismissed it as guilt for leaving the wounded horse and worry for his still missing brothers. Now, though, he wondered if he had not made a mistake. The young one was too pale, and his mannerisms were beginning to fall into those the elf remembered from the few times he had seen his friend sick. He frowned pensively.
"Or did not think anyone would follow," Aragorn finished with another sigh. Again, he rubbed at his head, this time as if he was trying to ease a headache. "In any case, we must continue on to Caivern. Mayhap luck will favor us and they will have left a note telling us where to go."
The human chuckled, but Legolas did not. His frown deepened as the ranger swayed ever so slightly, irritation flaring through him, then reached down to help pull the ranger back up behind him. He did not, however, start going again as the human had expected, but instead twisted around to look him in the eye. "Are you well, Strider?"
"Of course, mellon nin," Aragorn replied, blinking rapidly as if surprised. "Why do you ask?"
Legolas arched an eyebrow at that, and it may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the human wince ever so slightly. "You do not look well," he explained evenly, looking closer. But despite that observation, the man did not quite look sick, either. His silver eyes were not glassy, nor were they over-bright, so he likely did not have a fever. In any case, he did not press the issue. He knew from experience that he would never get the man to admit he did not feel well lest he could point to some indisputable evidence (such as fever) that the human would then dispute anyway before he could even hope to get an admission of weakness. Instead, he asked another question he already knew the answer to--know, because Aragorn would never admit the truth. "Are you cold?"
"No."
Sometimes it was annoying to have your expectations met so flawlessly. He frowned at the human, undeservedly angry, before smoothing his expression to indifference. "Tell me, my friend," he began lightly, the slightest bite entering his tone. "Do you never tire of lying about your health?"
He turned quickly, not waiting for nor expecting a response, and so missed the startled pain that flashed across Aragorn's face before he shifted his expression into an inscrutable mask. If Legolas had hoped to guilt a more truthful response, he had sorely misjudged.
*~*~*~*~*
Elrohir glared impressively at anyone brave enough to catch his eye as he and his twin were led away from Shirk. He ached; he was tired and helpless, frustrated at being both, and not even the return of his sight could appease him. It did, however, give him a new way to express his ire, little though it accomplished.
The land they crossed was more or less bare, the few tents he could see positioned well to his left, the nearest a good fifty paces from the base of the mountains. He wondered, vaguely, what it was used for, as it was also positioned quite far from any of the others. There were no trees in the area (those waited beyond the river) but there were several rock formations that jotted into the air interspersed among the tents and recesses.
The camp actually seemed to be settled upon a ledge that extended roughly half a mile from the mountainside before falling away again at a fairly steep angle, parts carved like large stone steps descending towards the river. The ones he worried about were the parts that looked like a light tap would send the whole of the slope tumbling almost immediately to the river. It was not a pleasant landscape.
He glared at the person who currently guided him down the slope with a firm hand on his arm and decided that was just as well--the people were not exactly pleasant, either.
Suddenly, he was yanked forward, firm stone removed from beneath his feet, and he felt a flash of fear flutter in his stomach, the result of his missed step, and quickly tried to regain his footing. His legs, long unused, refused to cooperate quickly enough, and his right foot caught the edge of one of the steps. His ankle buckled, holding for a split second, then gave and dumped him to the ground, the ever-present restraining hand disappearing long enough to let him fall hard on his shoulder, the bone cracking ominously in protest, before reappearing and pulling him to his feet.
The elf ground his teeth together, fuming silently, and stared straight ahead, coarse laughter washing over him. His cheeks colored slightly, a pale red that shone angrily high on his cheekbones and his eyes glittered dangerously. He tensed, his body held stiff, and tried to convince himself that so long as he could not see their ugly faces, they did not exist. But a red haze had settled over his mind, and he needed only the slightest spark to erupt.
"Stop it, you brainless Orcs!" Elladan seethed, his voice as dangerous hiss, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be the sensible one of the pair.
"Shut up!" His guard snapped, a beefy hand colliding with Elladan's jaw almost immediately.
Elrohir planted his feet, surprising his guard who had continued walking forward. The man turned to face him and the younger twin lashed out with his foot, the only available weapon he had, and caught the fool in the knee. A strangled, high screech erupted from his mouth as the joint was bent in a direction it was never meant to go. He grabbed his knee as he fell to the ground, frozen with pain. The man who had held Elladan abandoned the elder twin and slammed his mammoth fist into the side of Elrohir's head. He stumbled, dazed, and half tripped over the fallen guard (who choked on his moan and rolled onto his side) and fell to the ground on his knees, cringing as what felt like nails scraped across the flesh.
Elladan growled as he saw his brother go down, his surprise shifting instantly to rage. Without thought, he charged the human who had struck his brother, plowing into him and knocking the man off balance--he flew forward and crashed hard to the stone on his hands and knees, sliding a bit on the loose stone. Elladan crashed to the ground a few feet behind him, taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulder and head, more or less sparing his already cracked ribs. He lay dazed for a moment, his mind to fuzzy to listen to his commands even if his body had been willing to move.
Elrohir pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit, moments before the big man did, and caught the dangerous sparkle in his eyes as he glared at his twin. He started towards Elladan an instant before Elrohir moved towards him. Neither made it.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The words cracked through the air like a whip, startling both man and elf to a halt, both automatically turning to face the new threat. Elrohir froze at the sight that greeted him, only peripherally aware that the man did the same. A dozen more men stood two dozen paces behind them on a ledge nearly six feet above them on the path. The man who had spoken, apparently one of the leaders, was staring darkly at them; Elrohir got the feeling that on anyone else it would have been a scowl.
The man had dark hair and gray eyes and a face that would not have put him out of place amid the rangers--worn but hard with that same look of having laughed too seldom and faced too much pain. The elf would almost say he looked familiar, but that could simply be the clothes (dark brown pants and gray shirt under dark tunic with a black cloak) which he recognized from that day nearly a year ago when he and his twin had found their human brother outnumbered and battling for his life. He glared at the man, but the other was too busy glaring at the guard to notice.
"Zirill. Explain yourself." The sharp words, soft though they were, hit hard, and Elrohir saw the guard on the ground wince; his companion did not, but the elf would have bet everything he owned that the man wanted to.
Instead, he straightened, squaring his shoulders and directing his gaze past his superior's shoulder, his face expressionless. "We were following orders, my lord, when the prisoners got out of line. We were subduing them."
Suddenly cool eyes studied him a moment longer before flicking carelessly to Elladan, then to the guard's companion (who had stopped moving so completely he may not have even been breathing), and finally came to rest on Elladan, who met the gaze impassively. He felt a quick mind lay behind those opaque eyes, but he gained nothing from the other's expression.
The lord's attention returned to Zirill without warning. "They are bound," the man said, as if that simple statement explained everything the man needed to know. Elrohir exchanged a confused glance with his twin, who still looked more than a little dazed.
"They're Elves!" Zirill exclaimed in exasperation, his tone also indicating more than what was said. Anger lurked behind the words. And fear.
Gray eyes narrowed dangerously. "You have exceeded your bounds."
"They--" the guard began incredulously, desperately.
"They. Are. Bound," the man reiterated with forced patience. "You have exceeded your mandate. Report," he snapped, the single word as sharp as if he had just slapped his sword with a rock. It hit the guard like a slap to the face.
Zirill stiffened, the color draining from his face, but he did not object (though Elrohir had expected him to) nor explain what had happened (which confused the elf). The dark-haired elf watched, slightly perturbed, as the man threw a quick salute and quickly walked back the way they had come, eyes forward and unwavering. No one moved or spoke as he passed, only their eyes following him.
He had just passed the first line, when the leader spoke. "Zirill."
The man froze.
"Take Virgil with you."
The guard on the ground moaned breathlessly, apparently preferring to lie forgotten in pain than whatever "report" entailed for him. Zirill, however, simply turned on his heel and immediately returned to his companion's side, quickly pulling him to his feet. Despite his obvious reluctance, Virgil helped without a word and disappeared back towards camp with one arm thrown across Zirill's shoulder to take his weight of his busted knee. They disappeared from sight quicker than the young elf would have thought possible.
Elrohir pried his attention from their retreating guards to the solemn being before him to find hard gray eyes focused once more on him. A shiver traveled down his spine, a sense of some doom sweeping the air around him. Then the man blinked. "Kort. Jak. Escort our guests. See that they arrive before Lord Shirk in a timely manner. Appropriately."
"Aye, sir."
Two men stepped out of the group. They looked so much alike they could have been mistaken for twins. Their red-brown hair was the same, cut halfway down their ears and brushed aside to fall haphazardly around their eyes. Light green eyes held a touch of yellow in them that, depending on the light, seemed to turn them the color of sandstone. They were the same height and weight, and neither wore a beard but had a neat goatee instead. The only difference Elrohir could see was around the eyes and mouth, where fine lines lent greater age to the leftmost of the pair.
The older one crossed to him and grabbed his arm, holding the appendage firmly just above the elbow. The younger continued past them to Elladan, and the younger elf watched as his brother was pulled to his feet. Though by no means gentle, Elrohir could see that the elder twin was handled with a certain amount of care. As soon as everyone was on their feet, they continued down the slope. When Elrohir glanced back, only the leader remained, but he was not watching them. He was staring out at the trees.
A small tug, more the nudge of a friend trying to regain a companion's attention than a captor his prisoner, drew Elrohir's attention forward. He half expected to be pulled off balance again, but these men seemed more controlled than the others. When he chanced another glance back a few moments later, though, the human was gone. He looked forward.
An odd tension hung in the air. Their new guards, Kort and Jak, did not talk, nor did they laugh or joke. They held their silence, gravity hanging about them like a shroud that precluded any horseplay or games. Their sharp eyes scanned the land around them, alert for a disturbance from their surroundings or their prisoners. These two were professional, dedicated, their adherence to duty unclouded by desire for personal satisfaction. He wondered if they were the exception or the rule.
Well, Elrohir thought wryly. Now's as good a time as any to find out more, and we've been quiet too long. Besides, for whatever reason, they seem to care what condition we're in, so it can't hurt to try. He staunchly ignored the little voice that shrieked with laughter at that and insistently told him it could. A lot.
He brushed the thought aside and quickly concluded a little conversation was in order, just to calm the nerves. The elf glanced between the two men and asked the first thing that popped into his head. "Are you brothers?" Neither man so much as glanced at him, so he continued cheerfully. "It's just that you look so much alike, you know. Twins, almost. Why, if you stood opposite each other and copied each other's movements, you could pretend you were looking in a mirror! Have you ever tried that? Me and El, here, did when we were younger. Got quite a laugh from the maidens; adorable, as it were. Many smiles, too, back when they believed we were innocent. Then we moved on to other things. Pretending to be our brother was the best. You remember, El?" he prompted, curiously glancing in his brother's direction to see how he fared.
A small smirk graced his fair features, memories of hours of amusement brightening his eyes--along with a devious little spark that said he had caught on and agreed with Elrohir's plan. "Indeed, I do, brother. Treasure memories, they are. I still see Father's frustrated scowl, a boon to lift any elf's heart." Except most would not share that view, quite horrified with the thought of gaining the elf lord's ire. "They never could figure who was who. Sometimes, I think it's a miracle we remembered."
"If we did remember."
"Which it's possible we didn't, what with how often we were called the other."
"Wouldn't Ada be so surprised?" Elrohir added, glee he did not have to fake sneaking into his voice. The thought was simply too amusing to be dampened by anything so trivial as captivity.
"And Glorfindel and Estel, too," Elladan agreed. "Can you just see their faces?"
"Priceless," Elrohir agreed with a devilish smile. He glanced curiously at the guard holding him. "You ever to do that?" His eyes narrowed as he watched for any reaction. None came. "Try and dress and act like your twin?"
Still nothing. "Ai, brother! Have you no sense?" Elladan finally exclaimed. "He has no twin."
"Brother, then," he amended shortly.
"Obviously he hasn't," Elladan said, voice long-suffering. "No one but you could ever think they would be mixed up, anyhow."
"They could be mixed up." His tone was wounded and defensive as he glared at Elladan.
"No, they couldn't."
"Yes they could."
"Couldn't."
"Could." Elrohir grinned broadly. It felt good to argue with his twin over something so nonsensical as whether or not two people they did not know could be mistaken for twins, odd as that sounded. It went far to reliving the tension that had built up inside him over the long days of their captivity.
"Couldn't."
"Could."
"Ni xitcha cor tuache?"
Elrohir and Elladan turned to look at the younger of the pair. He was staring straight ahead, his face as expressionless as before. If the younger twin was not completely sure he had heard the young guard speak (it was unlikely he and Elladan would have the same hallucination, never mind that they were twins), he would have sworn he imagined it for there was no hint of the aggravation he had heard in the other's countenance.
"Antar nent soir coup destache entim."
The elves glanced at the elder, then looked to the younger. Both were staring straight ahead as if neither had spoken. Elrohir pursed his lips slightly, then demanded in slightly petulant Elvish, "What did they say?"
Elladan met his gaze and shrugged. "Maybe they think you're fat," he replied in kind.
His expression melted into a scowl. "But what language is that?" He persisted.
"I don't know, brother," the elder twin replied, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice. Elrohir pursed his lips again. Whatever enjoyment he had gotten from arguing with his brother, he did not want to make him angry with him. They were all the other had right now. This was not the time.
He sighed theatrically, as if he had just suffered a big disappointment. "So they can't pass as twins," he admitted heavily in Common, picking up where he had left off as if the only thing they had been discussing was the same argument that had been heard. "But wouldn't it be so much fun? Imagine all the pranks you could play. All the trouble you could cause. . . ." He trailed off as he glanced speculatively at the pair. Still nothing. Valar, these two are worse than the Rangers! he thought in exasperation, but that did not mean he was going to give up. "Though, you don't look like the kind of people who would cause trouble," he continued. "You expect people who are going to cause trouble to have this fiendish light in their eyes and a manic grin. All the better that you don't look like that, then, come to think of it. You can get away with more! I bet you pulled loads of pranks in your day." He frowned, then, a thought having just occurred to him. "Or do humans not do that?"
Elladan snorted. "Of course humans do that!" he exclaimed. "I'm the one who hit my head, brother, not you."
"I'm just saying. Maybe the humans we know are nothing like the humans we don't know."
"Ridiculous." How Elladan managed to sound so dismissive when he was obviously trying very hard not to burst out in laughter, Elrohir had no idea.
"Is not."
"Is so."
"Not. They won't even tell us their names," Elrohir concluded triumphantly, as if that settled everything.
His twin snorted again, dismissing his words unequivocally. "We know their names. Kort and Jak."
"Aye, but we don't know who goes with which name. They haven't introduced themselves."
"So ask."
"You ask."
"You're the one who wants to know," Elladan shot at him, shooting him a dirty look as he ended the possibility of tossing the same words back and forth.
"You're older," he countered gamely.
"That's right. And I'm telling you to ask." The elder twin was frowning slightly, the perfect picture of a frustrated elder brother, but Elrohir could see the laughter in his eyes. They had had this conversation many times over the centuries.
"But you're more responsible," Elrohir whined back.
"I'm only two minutes older!" The disbelief in that exclamation was quite convincing.
"But you're still more responsible!"
"Fine. I'm more responsible. Now I'm responsible for seeing that you ask."
Elrohir pouted, hard-pressed to keep from laughing. "Ada told you to take care of me."
"No he did not," Elladan denied carelessly.
"Did so."
"No, he said, 'Watch out for your younger brother.' That did not mean you."
"Did, too."
"Did not."
"Did, too."
"Did not."
"Did, too."
"Fine!" Elladan snapped. If he had had use of his hands, he probably would have thrown them in the air.
Elrohir blinked, but his brother did not continue. He tilted his head. "So?"
"So what?"
"Ask."
"You ask."
"No, you ask."
"I don't want to. You ask."
"I asked last time," Elrohir finally relented, breaking the pattern.
"No, I did."
"I did."
"I did!" Elladan insisted. Elrohir truly could not remember. "It was at that ball--" He never got the chance to finish. Suddenly, he was falling, and stopping it became far more important that continuing his train of thought.
Elrohir barely had time to register his brother's swan dive before he was joining him. His mouth snapped closed as he hit the water, tensed against the impact. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the cool liquid envelope him, swallowing first his feet and knees then quickly moved up to include his face. He had vaguely expected it to hurt and was rather surprised when it did not. He even started to relax, basking in the feel of fresh water moving over his face, the light current brushing away weeks of accumulated dirt and sweat. It felt heavenly, never mind that he was still wearing his clothes.
Then that bliss was snatched away. Fire, white hot as liquid glass, shot up his arms, permeating them with pain. They felt like they were going to fall off and he only hoped they would before they took the rest of his body with them, corrupting it and filling it with agony. Indeed, he could already feel it racing up his shoulders and down through his chest, tightening it, up through his head, jabbing burning pokers through his skull so bright lights flashed across his lids, melting his mind. His mouth opened to scream, but there was no sound, only bubbles. He tried to gasp in air to fill the void that was created, and choked.
The younger twin coughed raggedly as he left the unconcerned embrace of the river's water, his brain barely registering the sharp slap of stone as he slammed into it nor the sandpaper scratch as he was dragged further away from the water, the rough rock conspiring to keep as much of his skin as it could. He was too busy gasping air into rebelling lungs, desperately trying to convince them it had not been his idea to breath water to worry over anything else.
When his body finally calmed down enough to let his mind think, it was not his pain that occurred to him; it was his brother's. "Elladan!" He rasped.
"I'm here, brother," Elladan answered immediately, his tone nearly calm around his ragged breathing. "Are you all right?"
Elrohir nearly laughed--would have if he had had enough breath to do so. Instead, he nodded. "Some trip," he murmured in elvish, the flowing words coming easier to his lips that the Common Tongue. "Maybe we should show Estel." Except he would never hurt his little brother like that. Never.
Elladan did not answer as they were hauled to their feet and forced to begin their walk back up the slope, the twins stumbling at nearly regular intervals. Stones that they would never have stepped on much less tripped over, skipped down the incline to roll into the river, each one's arrival announced by a soft plunk that was always almost erased by the gurgle of the stream. It took most of their ascent for Elrohir to get his breath back and force his mind to work properly; physical exertion directly after injury not being conducive to a quick recovery, after all.
Finally, though, his breathing evened out and he looked to the man holding his arms. "So. Are you Kort or Jak?"
He never saw where the blow came from.
Elrohir stumbled hard, blinking as lights once more burst before his eyes, flaring like some of Gandalf's fireworks, but he did not fall. By the time his vision cleared enough to look around, both Kort and Jak (or Jak and Kort) were walking serenely, any hint of who had attacked him gone as if it had never happened. His blue eyes narrowed dangerously as his previous ire came rushing back into him full force.
Elladan shot him a warning look, his familiar eyes warning the young elf to hold his tongue and his temper and not provoke them. They told him to be patient, to wait, so Elrohir did, much though he despised backing down to these cowards. The quartet proceeded back into camp without uttering another word.
They were led past the lone tent and guided around several other obstacles towards the mountains that lined the northern perimeter of the camp. The corral, where dozens of horses were kept, was the first thing they passed--sharp elven eyes caught no sight of Talme among their number. Then they passed more tents, and the elf thought it likely at least one of them held horse supplies though he could not be sure with the flaps pulled closed. Most of the people they passed were dressed in the same dark colors as their guards and carried weapons openly. Others wore light colored, simple, rough sewn clothes that looked filthy and the empty expressions of people who had seen their lives taken away and their futures destroyed. He shuddered as he watched a pair of young girls enter one of the tents, then turned his attention back to his surroundings.
It was hard to know what he was looking for when each tent looked the same and every rock formation as uniform as if they had been carved that way. Even the people were hard to differentiate between, regardless of the fact that their hair ranged from pale yellow to blackest night with every shade in between and their eyes and skin color seemed to follow suit. There was also some kind of power hierarchy, but he was at a loss as to how to decide who had to take orders from whom and how they differentiated unless everyone knew everyone else, something he found unlikely.
It was not long (though Elrohir would not have argued if someone had claimed otherwise) before they approached another tent. This one was almost the same size as the one he had first noticed and seemed to be more or less ignored by the rest of the camp. It was beige, nearly the exact shade of the rock around it, and looked like every other tent he had ever seen, save for a black stripe that ran over the entrance. He wondered what it meant.
Without hesitating, the two men pushed the flaps aside and dragged them in, the canvas slapping closed behind them. Three sturdy wooden chairs were the only objects in the room. Two were positioned side-by-side, separated by about a pace, while the third was settled facing it about thrice that far distant. Silently, the guards led Elladan and Elrohir over to the pair of chairs and firmly placed them on them, sliding their still bound arms over the backs of the chairs. Elrohir grit his teeth to hid his wince of pain at the motion. Then the ropes that had been used as leashes were wound around the chair, ensuring they stayed put. The ropes were tied off and the guards withdrew. Neither Kort nor Jak uttered a word, nor did they look at them after their task was completed.
Elrohir stared after them until he lost the sound of their footsteps, feeling strangely bereft at their absence. He sighed and turned to his twin. "I'm not liking this, brother."
Elladan shot him a look that said, "duh!" but valiantly restrained himself from uttering those words or their like. He frowned. "The Slyntari have not been heard of for millennia. Why should they suddenly reappear now?"
"Perhaps they haven't," Elrohir replied, not liking his answer any more than his twin even as he voiced it. "Most of those beings are Men. Dressed differently, one would never know they serve Sauron." He did not add that without their knowledge of their allegiance, they would never have known anyway.
"No," Elladan agreed. "But I wonder what they want with us."
"Then perhaps I should tell you," a voice interrupted smoothly.
The pair looked up to find Shirk standing before them, dressed in blood red riding clothes trimmed with black. A rather expensive looking black cape hung about his shoulders and trailed down to just above his knees. Through his surprise, he managed to note Shirk had not been wearing that when they had arrived. Before, he had been wearing the same dress as the rest of his men, even if it had been better tailored.
Elladan glared at the blonde haired elf regally. "That might be a good idea," he agreed bitingly. "Then we will know why you were destroyed when Lord Elrond comes for us."
"Oh, he won't come for you," Shirk denied, smiling as he moved to take his own seat. "No one even knows you're gone. Funny thing about traveling the Wilds; it is so easy to be . . . delayed."
Elrohir matched his brother's glare, every reason he had for hating this elf flying through his mind. "Our father will notice we're missing and send parties looking for us. When they have found us, you will rue the day you showed your face back in Middle-Earth."
"I doubt that, young one, but your faith is touching." Shirk smirked. Elrohir doubted this elf had a heart to touch. "There will be no tracks to follow by the time they note your absence. Winter hits these lands hard, after all, and you know how the snows attack your home. Then, I doubt he will have much time to worry over you if he has to take care of the Ranger."
Elrohir's stomach plummeted and his blood ran cold, but Elladan beat him to a response once again. "What have you done with him!" the elder twin hissed. "What have you done to Strider?" If looks were responsible for spontaneous combustion, Shirk would have been nothing more than a pile of ask.
The elf simply smiled unconcernedly, relishing their reaction. "I? Why, I have done nothing. Not yet. I'll be curious to see how long that lasts, though. I wonder if he is still so defiant. Ungwale will break even the strongest men, after all. That is it's purpose."
"If you so much as lay a finger on him. . . ." Elrohir warned darkly.
"You'll what?" Shirk raised a mocking eyebrow at him. "You'll what, Lord Elrohir? And don't look so surprised. It's unbecoming. Of course I can tell you apart. I am not a Man, after all. But you will be in no condition to worry over the dear Ranger once I'm through with you. You may count on that."
"What do you want?" the younger twin prompted, tired of playing games. Elladan was too furious to speak.
"For now, information will do," Shirk replied, completely nonplused by Elladan's death glare.
"And you think we're going to cooperate? You're insane."
Elrohir nearly winced at the scorn in his brother's voice. Shirk, though, did not appear bothered in the least, yet it was this very nonchalance, too forced, that told him Elladan had hit a nerve. When the elf spoke, his voice was the coldest they had heard it. "Everyone breaks, my dear Elladan. Everyone. Even if you don't, you will serve my purpose. Either way, you lose. But I thought I would give you the chance to make this easier on yourselves, the chance to spare yourselves unnecessary pain. It is, of course, your right to refuse. So I ask: will you tell me what I want to know?"
"No," Elrohir answered.
"Never," Elladan affirmed, voice vehement.
Shirk's pale blue eyes glittered maniacally in the dim light. Whether it was anger or excitement neither twin could say, but there was no doubt in their minds that the elf did not regret their answers. A small smile, the barest curving of lips, touched his face. "Very well, my lords," he intoned softly, ironically. "Welcome to hell."
*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*
Review Responses:
Deana: I hadn't even thought of that. . . . No, I had. Lol. Very briefly very long ago. Can't remember why I dismissed it. *looks thoughtful* I'll try. *smiles innocently*
Red Tigress: *looks confused* I don't know what you're talking about either. Hehe. How 'bout you tell me if you figure it out? *looks hopeful* *snorts* I can safely assure you the horsie will be fine. The twins on the other hand. . . . *grins evilly*
Alina: Never fear, I shall not hold your prior silence against you. *g* Phew, I'm glad to hear that. I had doubts about my plot even before I started writing it, but I feel better after your reassurances. And you're free to ramble about whatever you wish, I will never turn you away. Lol. Fresh viewpoints are always appreciated. Hehe. Do de-lurk more often. *g*
Grumpy: Yay! *claps enthusiastically* It does, indeed. As for why they want the twins. . . I could have sworn I mentioned that somewhere earlier. Ah, well. You'll simply have to wait. Would you like more than one copy?
Nerfenherder: Ah, yes, more important as it is, I'm still neglecting it in favor of posting this chapter. Oops. Lol. It is Florida State, and my defensiveness is the result of living in Florida where there are two schools competing for favoritism. You're either a seminole fan or a gator fan and we tend to go rather hard for each other's throats. Hehe. Fun, huh? I'm glad it doesn't seem forced. Em, well there is that. I was thinking of something else. Would you like to guess again or just have me tell you? Or do you not want to know at all? I can do that, as well. It's good to be terrible. Just one--or two? Thanks.